


Rapture

by firewoodwander



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Clone Sex, Clone Trooper Culture (Star Wars), Exhibitionism, Love Confessions, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s04e07 Darkness on Umbara, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, just sweethearts being sweethearts you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodwander/pseuds/firewoodwander
Summary: Today Tup’s decided it’s his turn to show off his cyare, if only to show him how much he’s loved.
Relationships: Dogma/CT-5385 | Tup
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Rapture

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed them all being soft and happy together, is that too much to ask, canon??

“Someone’s gonna read you the reg manual for this one day,” Dogma murmurs, winding his fingers in the locks of hair that tumble past Tup’s ear and shimmer in the low light. Tup hums, watching the strands spin and fall around his knuckles.

“Maybe,” he says, looming over Dogma and smiling lazily. “But I think you beat them to it.”

The corner of Dogma’s mouth quirks upwards and he closes his eyes, bringing the hand still wound in Tup’s hair to his lips and breathing in gently. When he opens his eyes again Tup is enraptured, _captivated_ by the simmering heat there. He leans in, drawn and unable to refuse, to replace that hand urgently with his own lips. 

They kiss for long moments, surprising Tup and endearing him in equal measures when Dogma kisses back just as happily. He knows his partner isn’t such a fan of the feel of their tongues meeting between mouths, but he’s wonderful enough to allow Tup’s selfish urges, returning them, even, when he’s feeling particularly into it. Tup laughs delightedly and shivers under the touch of Dogma’s other hand trailing down his side.

Tup knows that others think he’s pretty. He’s been told as much in compliments and advances and cat-calls from other companies, touched enough in the showers (though not anymore, not if they don’t want broken fingers, Kix-approved) to know that the others seem to think he’s somehow different. He knows it’s probably a combination of his age and his hair, but Dogma… Dogma has always looked at him like he’s _beautiful._

He makes Tup _want_ to be beautiful. Makes him heat from the inside and spend just a minute more making sure he’s neat and tidy in the mornings. Makes him smile and makes him feel like he’s _home,_ and it’s intoxicating.

“The others will be back soon,” Dogma murmurs into his mouth.

“And?” Tup returns. “It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”

“You know they won’t leave us alone.”

Tup grins, nipping now at the skin beneath his jaw. “I don’t care.”

Dogma’s fingers skim the waist of his blacks. They twitch at the hem, creeping underneath to run the border between Tup’s skin and waistband. “I thought you didn’t like sharing.”

“I have nothing against sharing.”

“Oh? Then why did you drag me all the way out to the cleaning cupboard last time?”

“That was _once.”_

Dogma hums. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Tup sits back on Dogma’s thighs and reaches for the hem of his top, pulling it swiftly over his head and shaking his hair back out of his face. Dogma watches him raptly from where he’s half-pinned, wriggling as he undresses and flinging his own uppers haphazardly off the side of the bunk. “And to think there was a time you’d only ever take your clothes off to wash.”

“Shut up,” Dogma mutters, tipping his head back when Tup returns to nibble at his collar bones. His hands stroke up the outside of Tup’s thighs bracketing his, his fingers dipping back to tease at the crease of Tup’s arse in ways that make him struggle not to squirm. Tup muffles a sound of amusement in his chest and runs the flat of his tongue over Dogma’s nipple, scraping teeth lightly on the way down.

Dogma’s hips twitch up, brushing together both of their half-hard cocks. Tup catches his waist and begins to divest him of his lower blacks one-handed, grinning as he leans up on the other to dot more sweet kisses over Dogma’s cheekbones. Dogma too is worming his hands down the back of Tup’s lowers, running his hands all over and pretending he isn’t, pulling away his shorts at the same time and leaving them both trapped under his arse when they won’t go any further. Tup laughs and rises up off his knees to help.

“You still have the slick?” Dogma asks, still going a little red-faced at the prospect but already pawing around at the under edge of the mattress. 

“Under the pillow,” Tup tells him. He edges up Dogma’s thighs, rocking them together with a ghosting touch. Dogma faffs around with the tube until he has almost his whole hand covered with the stuff and _gleaming,_ and Tup stares. He stares, wants, and decides he’s waited long enough.

When Tup guides Dogma’s slick fingers, not between Dogma’s legs, beginning to fall open under Tup in anticipation, but between his _own,_ he can’t quite help chuckling at the sight of Dogma’s surprise and blooming expression of shy eagerness. It has that heat rising to the surface again, through Tup’s groin and face simultaneously, and when those strong fingers land on the skin just between his cheeks all of it seems to ignite.

“All right?” he asks. Dogma nods with enthusiasm, but his movements are short and jerky enough that they betray how tightly-wound he is. His tongue darts out over his lower lip as he works and teases Tup’s rim and Tup groans, long and low, feeling his knees begin to slip out either side of him. 

“Good?” Dogma’s voice is so quiet it’s nearly hoarse, and his eyes track Tup’s face so intently it has him flushing down to his chest.

“Good,” Tup agrees breathily. Leant on his elbows, he lowers himself until they’re chest to chest and Tup can bury his nose behind Dogma’s ear. Dogma’s hand is trapped between them but seemingly unimpeded—at least by the way one finger slips through the loosened ring of muscle and begins to work from the inside. Dogma kisses the jut of Tup’s jaw and trails the nails of his free hand over his ribs. Sensation skitters over Tup’s skin and down his spine with fire and a groan of appreciation.

A second finger joins soon after the first, thrusting in until the knuckles of Dogma’s hand meet the sensitive edges of Tup’s rim. Tup keens in Dogma’s ear and attaches his lips to the skin just below it, sucking and nibbling and trying not to think about how close their cocks are to touching. How he might be beginning to drip on Dogma’s thigh. How the heat and firm muscle of Dogma’s body feels pressed up contour-to-contour with his.

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum,” he whispers, and grins lazily into Dogma’s shoulder at the harsh sound of a caught breath.

“No,” Dogma protests weakly, and it drops the smile straight from Tup’s face. “No, you don’t mean that—”

Tup sits up, back on his frozen fingers, and places a hand right in the centre of his sternum to keep him in place.

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum,” he repeats. “I think you’ll find I mean every word.”

Dogma panics, his eyes blown wide and his entire frame trembling. “But I—I didn’t—the General, too late—”

“Oh,” Tup breathes. _“No,_ cyare, no. I don’t blame you for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“The others do,” is the quiet response. “Everyone, Rex—”

“Rex blames only himself, for some stupid reason. And you were not _wrong,_ Dogma, you were following orders. You know, like we’ve been brainwashed to do. And good soldiers follow orders.”

“But, no! It wasn’t…” He struggles for words. “I _shouldn’t_ have.”

Tup leans down again and flutters kisses over Dogma’s brow, his cheek, his jaw. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “None of our friends do—they’re the ones who matter.” He rolls his hips down again, bringing their attention back to Dogma’s fingers. “Now, I’d quite like to continue, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Dogma stares up at him. His face is flushed and his eyes are darting over every twitch and change on Tup’s own, still mere inches above. Tup feels the corners of his own eyes crinkle a little as he smiles.

“I love you.”

_“Fuck,”_ Dogma says, that one word heavier than any Tup has heard from his mouth before and dropping straight to his groin. He uses his free hand to tangle once more in Tup’s hair and wrench him into a searing, slick, magnetising kiss like the rare few they’ve exchanged in the immediate heat and adrenaline of post-battle.

Tup kneels up off Dogma’s fingers after they work the third in comfortably. Some hot, selfish part of himself wants to feel Dogma for kriffing _days,_ wants to be reminded of him every time he moves, just like Dogma’s told him about before. He goes to three because he can’t hurt himself—not only would Dogma freak out, but Kix and Coric would smack him over the head and call him stupid and it would be painful for ages, and he’s a _soldier,_ dammit—but any more and he knows his boyfriend won’t stop until he’s overprepared and ready to spill at the slightest touch. He wants to feel every bit of the stretch, he knows, eyeing Dogma’s thick cock below him, that will drive him out of his mind.

“Dogma,” he breathes. “M’ika, cyare—”

“Yes?” Dogma murmurs. The tips of those fingers are still circling his fluttering hole.

“I need you.”

Both of Dogma’s hand fly to his hips, tugging him forward until he’s over the heat of Dogma’s stiff cock. Tup makes an involuntary noise at the manhandling, his thighs flexing as they spread as wide as to be almost painful. The good kind, though.

“Still with me, Tup’ika?”

Tup groans again and grins. “If you don’t get inside me right now, M’ika, I am going to—”

He almost slips when he feels the first press of Dogma’s cock between his cheeks. Instead he breathes in, out, lets his head fall back, and pushes gently down.

Dogma hisses below him as the head of his slicked cock enters him, pushing on all of Tup’s walls in a truly delicious way. Tup barely notices the way his lips are frozen parted as he slides down as far as he can go, his arse seated in the cradle of Dogma’s thighs while Dogma’s hands take to wandering up and down his own. Thumbs tighten on his hip bones enough to bruise when he pulls Tup more firmly onto his cock, fingers meandering outwards to dig into the skin on his back below his ribs. Tup moans quietly in discomfort and arousal, and begins to roll his hips down. Every move is a cascade of sparks through the pit of his stomach.

When Dogma shifts to push his feet flat into the mattress and thrust up, he nearly knocks all coherent thought from Tup’s head. He’s so _full,_ surrounded by Dogma, filled by him, held by him, and it almost sends him incoherent at the thought. He raises his hips and whines at the drag, rolling back down and breathless with the shock of air forced from his lungs. Dogma grunts, hands still stroking, twisting nipples and scratching his sides. Tup moans again and picks up the pace as best he can.

The quiet swish of the door to the room sliding open goes unnoticed in his haze of heat and pleasure, but the sharp wolf whistle following does not.

“Now _that’s_ a pretty sight,” says one of the boys, quickly followed by the sound of a hand meeting flesh.

“Leave them alone,” Echo hisses, and Tup laughs shakily in appreciation. He can’t see them, not for the curtain of his hair draping down over his shoulders and shielding him where he’s tipped forward over Dogma’s chest, but Dogma can. He turns his gaze from Tup’s to glare at them, and both of his arms wrap around Tup’s waist to yank him down. Tup squeaks and topples, his elbows already too weak to protest, and pouts at his boyfriend.

_“M’ika,”_ he whines, too aware of the friction on his cock that’s trapped between them and leaking. “Don’t stop.”

“I told you they’d come back,” Dogma sighs.

Tup pushes himself up a little on Dogma’s chest and circles his hips, tilting Dogma’s chin back around to look at him. “Don’t care. I want you.”

“Don’t mind us!” says a voice that can only belong to Hardcase. “Please, continue.”

Tup ducks in to press his lips to Dogma’s before he can turn around again to growl. Dogma nips at his lower lip and loosens his hold on his waist, reaching down to knead one of Tup’s cheeks instead and swallow a high whine, near-devouring him in an uncharacteristic, sudden show of enthusiasm. Within the moment Tup finds himself on his back amongst the pillows, his hands falling from Dogma’s chest to the sheets by his head. 

Dogma smiles and reaches out to rescue Tup’s hair from beneath his shoulders, pushing back inside him on a long stroke that makes Tup moan and hook a leg around his waist. The other knee is taken in hand and pushed up to nearly Tup’s chest and Dogma bears down on him then, thrusting up inside him with much greater force and accuracy than Tup had been able to manage on his own.

“Mesh’la,” he murmurs into Tup’s ear. “Ner vod, _ner cyare…_ all mine.”

“Yours,” Tup gasps, struggling to hold back the noises Dogma thrusts into his throat with every notch of building pressure behind his navel. The hot, thick drag of his cock in and out against his slick walls electrifies his nerves with every stroke. “Oh, kriff!”

Dogma bites at a spot on Tup’s neck that no stretching of his blacks will cover, licking over the sting and sucking down hard. Tup jerks and cries out at the sudden rush of liquid gold to his groin, coupled with Dogma’s unfaltering rhythm he’s helpless to do anything but barely rock up into. He thinks of all the brothers in the mess that’ll see the marks and _know_ and has to take the base of his own cock in a hard grip to stop himself shooting off.

When Dogma takes the leg from his waist and folds it up to Tup’s sweatslick chest, beside but spread apart from the first, he has to reach up to the wall above his head to brace himself from slipping up the bed. The stretch gives Dogma a whole new swathe of skin to mouth along, leaving paths of hot and cold and wet strings of saliva over his chest. With no more warning than one last nip at his shoulder, he sits back to tilt his hips up and thrust in again, stroking the plush head of his cock straight over the one spot that lights up Tup’s spine like artillery fire. Tup lets out a strangled cry that has him flushing with embarrassment, only for Dogma to do it _again_ and have the gall to _smirk_ at him.

“Come on, cyare,” he says lowly. “You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck!” Tup whimpers. “Fuck, I—”

The hand that wraps around his cock has it pulsing with need, right on the edge. 

“You’re so good, Tup, so good. Will you come for me? Be good a little longer?”

He twists his wrist neatly over the head of his cock, and it’s all Tup can do not to yell as he comes. Dogma strokes him through it, his composure faltering fast as he continues fucking into him harder and sloppier with every moment. Tup lets his legs fall even wider as he comes down from the high loose and panting. He twitches with the overstimulation of every hot drag past his entrance and deep inside him, clenching around Dogma anyway for the sole purpose of tormenting him.

Dogma shudders and groans and wrenches himself away, the hand he isn’t leaning on flying down to pump his cock until he comes thickly over Tup’s stomach. Tup grins lazily, contented, and tugs until he drops down to lie next to him.

“Nice one, kid!” Jesse calls, and Kix whistles at them again. Tup snorts and flips them off over his shoulder, much more concerned with pressing his nose to Dogma’s temple when he wriggles into open arms.

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum,” he murmurs, and _stars,_ if those words don’t punch Tup right in the chest.

“Thank you,” he whispers, kissing his soft cheek. “I love you too. I love you, so much. Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum, ner cyare.”

Dogma huffs a tiny laugh. “I think you mentioned that already.”

“And I’ll tell you again, however many times you want.” He squeezes Dogma gently, revelling in the addiction of having solid warmth pressed up against him at all times. “Now, are you going to come with me while I get cleaned up?”

“Mm hmm,” Dogma replies, unconvincing. “Just give me a minute. Wanna hold you.”

Tup sighs into his shoulder and burrows his way back into the pillow. If he falls asleep to the feel of fingers combing through his hair and the ghost of a cloth down his sticky front, well, that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Tup.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here on [tumblr!](https://firewoodwander.tumblr.com/)


End file.
